A Drop of the Hard Stuff

“That’s right.”

“But I guess the two of you got along. That what you’re doing now? Working private?”

“When something comes my way,” I said. “But my interest in Ellery is personal.”

“Oh?” He frowned in concentration. “You were at the Six, and it seems to me he took a bust down there once. Nothing came of it, but was that your case? Years ago, that would have been.”

I told him that was a good guess, that it hadn’t been my case but that I’d been present as a spectator when the witness blew the ID. “We went back a little further than that,” I said, and explained how I’d known Jack briefly in the Bronx.

“Boys together,” he said. “One turns bad, the other goes on the cops. Years pass and they’re facing each other down in a darkened alley. A shot rings out. I think I saw the movie.”

“You probably did. Barry Fitzgerald played the priest.”

He took a hit of his drink, and I got enough of a whiff of it to identify it as Scotch. He said, “Then you lose touch, and he goes off to the joint for something else, and he gets out and gets himself killed, and a couple dozen people from AA hold a service for him, and here you sit drinking club soda. Is it any wonder they made me a detective?”

“I’m surprised they didn’t name you commissioner.”

“Just a question of time,” he said. “So it’s the same movie, but now the cop and the crook meet up again in the same AA room, and instead of Barry Fitzgerald you’ve got Queen for the Day running the show. What’s his name, Spellman? No, Jesus, that was the cardinal. This was the gym. Stillman.”

“He said you talked to him.”

“Couple of times. Took the whole thing pretty hard, but you get the sense that he’s got some toughness to him, under all the glitter. He was Ellery’s sponsor, whatever that amounts to. Is that anything like having a rabbi in the department?”

“That’s close.”

“Somebody who pulls your coat, steers you right.”

“There you go.”

“You got a sponsor yourself?” I nodded. “It’s not Stillman, is it?”

“No.”

“And I don’t suppose you’re Stillman’s sponsor.”

“I haven’t been sober long enough to start telling other people how to do it.”

“How long? Or isn’t that something I’m supposed to ask?”

“I don’t know what anybody’s supposed to do or not do. I’m coming up on a year the middle of next month.”

“And Ellery—”

“Just celebrated two years.”

“Just in time to get shot. You know who shot him?”

“Somebody who wanted him to keep quiet.”

“Yeah, that’s our thinking on the subject. ‘Here’s a little something for that big mouth of yours. Bang!’ Far as who that somebody might be, I’d say your guess is as good as mine, but what I’m hoping is it’s better. You got anything?”

“No.”

“My position, where would you go with this, Matt? You made detective, and I understand you were good at it. Who would you look at?”

“People he ran with. Guys he jailed with.”

“Uh-huh. And when that didn’t go anywhere?”

“I’d probably wait for somebody who knew something to use it as a bargaining chip.”

“A Get Out of Jail Free card.”

“Right.”

“Other words, wait for the case to clear itself. Something to be said for that. You got a high-profile case, prominent and affluent victim, that’s another story. Then you have to look like you’re doing something, so you take action whether or not there’s much point to it. Ask you something, Matt? The vic here, you knew him way back when, and you knew him again this past year, with both of you sober.”

“So?”

“I was just wondering how close you were with him.”

“Close enough to show up at the funeral.”

“But no closer?”

“Not really. I’m here now because someone asked me to see what I could find out.”

“Somebody with an earring would be my guess. Why I ask, I don’t want to say anything’s gonna rub you the wrong way. But what it comes down to, nobody’s gonna stay up all night sweating this one out. What do they say